Sensation
by Fact Vs Fiction
Summary: Temperance tries to answer the question but just can't find the words to describe it...


_**Title:**__ Sensation_

_**Author: **__FactVsFiction_

_**Rating: **__K+ (For drug metaphor)_

_**POV: **__Temperance Brennan_

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own BONES. I do own the plot though!_

_**Sensation.**_

She reveled in the soft touch of the cool cotton as it brushed her skin. She allowed her fingers to brush the fabric momentarily. Reverently.

She rose _gracefully_to her feet, a brilliant feat in her baggy white dobok. Her dobok, her uniform. It changed her.

In her dobok she stood taller. Both physically and mentally. Her motions were fluid and accurate, her reaction time seemingly faster. The belt around her slim waist encouraged her to hold her head up high. It signified her strength, and her power.

It was all psychological mumbo jumbo. Her logical self knew that no piece of clothing could change her height or make her seemingly uncoordinated body graceful. But that didn't really matter. To Temperance Brennan her dobok was one of her most prized possessions. Because to Temperance Brennan the Martial Arts were passion.

Temperance Brennan was a very passionate woman. She was passionate about her work, about science, about truth and justice. But the art of self defense fell into a different category.

She'd trained since she was 16 years old. She'd started out studying Karate in a tiny little club in Michigan. A Sensei, understanding of her plight as a foster child, had offered to train her for a fraction of the normal price. Years later she had asked him why he had taken her in and he responded with a simple." I sensed it." Whether he had sensed her need to learn or her raw talent Temperance had never known. She'd never asked for further explanation and still trained with her first sensei at least once a month.

Over the years she'd taken on other forms of martial arts. Her thirst for knowledge was unsatable and to Temperance Brennan knowledge was power.

Power, power was her addiction.

She was working on her 4th black-belt at the moment. Over the past ten years she'd taken a liking to Korean Martial Arts forms and now found herself studying a rather obscure form called Won Hwa Do. She loved it.

Rationally her love for fighting arts could be considered a waste of time. She could effectively defend herself with an one of the arts she had studied. But she kept at it.

Maybe it was her control issues that kept her training. Maybe it was her troubled past. Maybe it was her love affair with power. Sometimes she thought it was just restlessness, or her insatiable curiosity. When she wanted to rationalise she said it was for health purposes...

So many reasons...

Then there were the days where she allowed herself to acknowledge the more 'abstract' reasons.

She trained for sensation.

To her the feeling of confidence provoked by training was life blood and she dared not even wonder what kind of broken human being she would be today if her first sensei hadn't 'sensed' her.

The sensation of being so light and agile was uncomparable to anything else in her opinion.

Adrenaline was her drug and Martial arts her needle. She was addicted.

The rush that came with landing a blow, making contact. With someones head?, Legs?,Ribs?. - It really didn't matter. Sent passion through her arteries and veins, an electric shock through her nervous system.

Over the years she had searched, searched for a replacement and found none. Nothing could mimic the sensation...

And so she trained...

Many people had asked her "why?" over the years and to her frustration she had never been able to answer the simple question. Even now, as she thought about it she found herself at a loss. She couldn't even explain it to herself. Her thoughts were disjointed and muddled and the only word which kept appearing again and again was sensation...

The sensation of what?

The sensation of Power?, contact?, confidence?, adreneline?, strength?, control?.

She shook her head with a sigh. Drawing herself from her thoughts. This wasn't getting her anywhere anyway...

She stepped up to the edge of the matted area and bowed low.

There it was. That indescribable, incurable sensation that she knew, no matter how many times Booth asked, he would never understand. He couldn't.

Martial Arts was her passion.

And Temperance Brennan was a _very _passionate woman.

OoOoOoOo

_**A/N: **__Yeah, that seems really random. I know it's disjointed but I had to write it. The Martial Arts club i've trained at for 6 years closed today out of the blue. I wanted to try and explain what martial arts mean to me and anybody else who has ever trained to my level. Temperance is trained to black-belt in 3 forms and I thought the thoughts fitted a fic from her point of view perfectly..._

_Review. Let me know what you think! I'm thinking of making the idea of passions into a series with one for each character... Yes? No??_


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